Choices
by amberpire
Summary: He says it as if he had walked in on Sam raping me - like I wasn't equally participating. In fact, when he had barged in, I had been on top of her, making her quiver and moan. ;Carly/Sam;
1. Chapter 1

( Carly's POV )

He always managed to make me feel like I was three inches tall. Even if it was through email or over the phone, he still had the ability to take my dignity, crush it in the palm of his meaty hand and toss it to the ground, stomp on it, and then light it on fire and watch with glee as it burns and turns to ash.

"You are never to see that girl again - ever! Do you understand me, Carly? Never!"

I was staring down at the mahonganey table, too scared to raise my eyes. I didn't really have to; I had a pretty good idea of what he was doing, anyway. From where I sat across the table, I could see out of the corner of my eye his large hands on either side of me, curled into tight fists. I knew his eyes were licking with anger and I knew that one thick vein in his forehead was bulging to the point of bursting.

"Carly!" The right rock of a fist lifted and slammed, the movement so loud and sudden I jumped, instinctively looking up to meet his eyes. I used to think they looked so much like my own; soft and brown and somehow impossibly deep, but now they are just heavy blocks of earth and I feel a ping of fear strike my gut every time our gazes meet.

My father has become a stranger.

"Do. You. Understand?" He's growling now, and he's not my father anymore, he's this big grizzly bear who crawled into my father's skin. I think about leaning back in my chair to get away from his angry scowl and the alcohol that's reeking from his open mouth, but I don't.

If Sam has taught me anything, it's to never back down.

My heart clenches as the image of my blonde lover flickers through my mind and I swallow hard, straightening my spine for emphasis. "Yes, sir," I say, impressing myself when I managed to steady my trembling lower lip. It's not easy, because I really just want to scream and cry and hit him, and then run to Sam's house and collapse in the safety and comfort of her arms.

"Disgusting, what she was doing to you," the man who was my father sneers as he pushes off of the table. He says it as if he had walked in on Sam raping me - like I wasn't equally participating. In fact, when he had barged in, I had been me on top of her, making her quiver and moan. But of course he blames Sam for 'corrupting' me, because his perfect little Carly can do nothing wrong. I want to yell at him, tell him that what he saw wasn't disgusting by any means. It was beautiful and amazing and everything that it was supposed to be. Sam was supposed to be mine.

My father, this man who was my father, would never understand that. I think he used to a long time ago, when I was too little to remember. I like to think my dad felt the same things with my mother that I do with Sam. I wonder what changed him. It couldn't have been Mom's death, because I still hold dear the image of my father that I had when I was growing up, long after Mom had passed away: strong, passionate, caring, spontaneous, and most of all, understanding. He loved me and my brother and showed it to us every day.

And then my father was devoured by a drunk, ignorant bear who's face I don't recognize and never want to know.

"Maybe I'll bring you back with me to Europe," Dad was saying as he swung around to the fridge. I shot a glance into the living room, where Spencer sat twisting his hands like rags in his lap, watching me. His face was apologetic - he hadn't known Dad was coming, either - and I gave him a silent, forgiving nod of my head. If he had known, he would have warned me, and none of this would have happened.

"I like it here," I said, gently, careful not to light the short fuse my father had obtained over his transformation.

"I don't want my only daughter turning into a bull-dyke. God knows in ten years, that Sam girl will shave her head and buy a motorcycle." He slammed the refridgerator door with too much force, causing the jar bottles inside to clink loudly. "Out on the base, you'd be surrounded by lots of guys, guys that I'm sure you'd be interested in, Carly." He nods, the dark hair that Spencer and I had both received from his side of the gene pool falling over his eyes in greasy strands.

"I'm almost done with school, Dad. Just a few more months and then I'm off to college. You don't have to worry about me." My voice sounds impressively solid as I speak, as if this is what I truly wanted, as if Sam and I had not already had our entire lives planned out. All we wanted were simple jobs that could get us by, and a guitar.

Dad tilts the bottle of beer toward me and I notice that that's Spencer's alcohol, the one he saves for the few nights he and his friends can all get together and hang out. I'm well practiced in the art of keeping my cool - how else did I survive years with Sam and Freddie? - but I almost lose it, because Dad didn't even ask Spencer, and he and I both know that by morning, all of his drinks will be gone, and he'll be fishing money out of Spencer to go buy some more. And Spencer won't say no, because nobody can really say no to Dad. If you even think about it, he'll just give you one of his death-glares, and by then you've just about shit your pants.

You do not refuse my father things. It does not go well. That's why Sam was smart enough to grab her jacket and run when my father burst into my room. If she had been just a little bit slower, I know Dad would have hurt her.

I may not hate him yet, but I'm getting there. I really want to. Everything he does despises me. Maybe it's the fact that he was amazing to me at one point that's keeping me from wanting to rip his heart out? Who knows.

"I mean it, Carly. No more of that dyke blonde bimbo. And you," Dad says, swiveling his unfocused eyes onto Spencer. "Don't let her over anymore."

"Yes, sir," Spencer replies with a sharp nod, his hands clasping tight together. He looks terrified and I wonder if I look just as shaken.

Silence falls over us and I return my gaze to the table, waiting to be dismissed. When I hear the clink of an empty beer bottle falling into the trash can, I speak up. "So." I lift my eyes to find my father watching me curiously. "How long are you staying?"

The bear shrugs, whipping open the fridge for another drink. I resist sighing and rolling my eyes, but I catch Spencer running a hand through his hair, expression exasperated. I frown at him and while Dad's back is still turned, I fling my hand to my ear with thumb and pinky out, the universal sign for a telephone. 'Call Sam,' I mouth to him. 'Make sure she is okay'. My brother nods slowly and stands, keeping his eye on my dad who's turning back to the table just as Spencer ducks into his bedroom.

"Not sure. Few weeks, maybe."

I don't know if I can survive a few weeks. I've barely survived an hour. I watch as the bear sits heavily in the chair across from me and brings the bottle to his lips, akin to two lovers who have spent far too much time apart. I watch as the bear drowns the man who was my father.


	2. Chapter 2

( Sam's POV )

I've never been so scared in my entire life. Not even when my mom stopped breathing in her sleep and I had to call 911, not even when Carly almost moved away, not even when I almost fell off the fire escape while sneaking out. When Carly's wall of a father burst into her room, the fear that strangled me was more intense than anything I had ever felt because I knew, I _knew _this man would kill me the minute those beefy hands were close enough to my throat. He would snap it like a pencil.

I was scrambling out from beneath Carly before she yelled "Sam, run!" Thank God our heavy make-out session had not reached the Nudity Required stage because there was no way I would have been able to dodge Carly's dad with my shirt off and my pants around my ankles.

Barely managing to snag my jacket from Carly's floor, I ninja'd my way around her dad. I had seen pictures of him but had never seen him in person. Through all the years I had known Carly, she had always made it a point to keep me away from her dad, especially as she got older. She told me he was just a jerk now and I certainly was a believer after he glared daggers at me. I was kind of afraid that simple gaze would set me on fire it was so intense, and it took all of my street smarts not to stand there and gawk at how huge this guy was and how easily it would be for him to pick me up and break me in half. I couldn't believe that scrawny little Spencer and Carly were produced from that guy!

The fear in Carly's voice, though ... that was the worst. That's what sent me running as much as I wanted to stay behind. I wasn't going to do Carly any good strangled to death by her father, so I burst down the stairs with my heart jackhammering it's way out of my chest, blowing past a frantic Spencer on the stairs who didn't try to stop me, because he knew as well as I did that I need to get the fuck out of there as fast as my legs could go and then some.

I didn't stop to take the elevator down - there was too big of a chance that he would catch up with me. I had no idea just how motivated this guy was; I had heard very few stories about Carly's father, so for all I knew he was sharpening his knife and waiting for me to catch my breath. I dared one glance over my shoulder during the whole descent to the bottom floor but didn't stop; Carly had told me to run, and I wasn't stopping until I was safe in my room.

Out in the drizzing streets of Seattle, I slowed to a jog. If the guy was following me, then Carly would be following him, and she would be screaing her head off for me to duck for cover or something. After I put two blocks between Carly's apartment building and me, I finally collapsed onto a bench and allowed my brain to catch up on the oxygen it had been missing.

I pulled my jacket on tugging the hood over my already damp mop of blonde hair and crossed my arms, pouting into a puddle. Stupid Carly's dad. It was things like this that made me kind of glad that my dad had walked out a hundred years ago. He couldn't hurt me this way, couldn't scare me like Carly's dad did to her. It pissed me off, and I could just imagine all the shit he was saying to Carly.

I should be there, protecting her. That was what I had sworn to do the moment I discovered Carly Shay was the other half of my soul condensed into the body of a brunette girl, who had made the transition from friend, to best friend, to lover.

It was beautiful, really.

I stood once my breathing had returned to a normal pace and started toward my apartment, still fuming when my phone started having a seizure in my pocket. I swung it to my ear, immeidately expecting it to be Carly. "Carls? Shit, are you okay?"

"It's Spencer, Sam."

"Oh, hey, Spence. Is Carly okay? The _fuck _is your dad's problem? That guy needs some weed."

He sighed into the phone. "I know. And Carly's fine. How about you?"

"I'm fine. A little shaken. Your father is a fucking ape."

"I'm aware. Carly just wanted me to call you and check up - she's talking to Dad right now. Jesus, I hope he isn't here for very long. It's like walking on eggshells when he's here."

"I'm sorry, man. If you need to just escape his craziness for a while, you can come over to my house. You, me, and Carly can smoke a bowl or something."

"Right, and leave him here? Alone? With all of my sculptures? Right, he'd probably use them for toilet paper or burn them or something. Unfortunately, I'm probably going to be stuck here for the next couple of weeks."

I bit my lip, frowning into the phone. "What about Carls? Can she leave?"

"I don't know. Obviously for school and whatnot, but Dad will probably pull the whole 'you-never-get-to-see-me' thing and make her stay home all the time so they can have empty conversations."

"Fuck."

"I know. Sorry, kiddo. I'll do my best to get her out every once in a while."

"'Kay. Thanks, Spence. Have her call me as soon as she can, okay?"

"Will do. Bye."

"Bye." I slipped my phone into my pocket with a frown, turning onto my street. Watching my apartment building approach with each footfall, I told myself that her dad would leave in a blink, and Carly and I could go ahead with the plans that had been laid out for us before we were even born.

Right?


	3. Chapter 3

(Carly's POV)

I don't think I've ever wanted to leave my home this badly before. Usually I'm fine with spending days at a time here without leaving because Freddie's right next door and he visits and Sam practically lives with me, but now every room is a prison and the room my father occupies is a war zone; a fight waiting to happen. If I'm not at school, I'm locked up in my room, waiting for him to leave. I'm trying to stay sane by assuring Sam it won't be that much longer, that my dad will be gone before we know it, but whenever we part from school I hold on to her a little longer than I normally would because it's going to be hours before I see her again.

I can barely survive an hour without Sam there. That's just how it works when you love someone the way I love Sam. Time apart from them becomes almost unbearable. I can't even imagine what it's like on Sam's end, having to spend all day with her mom. She tells me she's passing the time by getting baked every day.

I wish I could get baked, too.

If my dad knew all of the things Sam has introduced me to, he would kill her. I don't even mean figuratively. He would _kill_ her. It was by sheer luck that she managed to escape my room before he had circled his hands around her throat because if she had been just a second too late, he would have killed her.

I've had nightmares about it almost every day since he got here.

I'm in my room, tidying it up for the hundredth time because I have nothing better to do, throwing my hair up in a ponytail and I keep glancing at my bed, aching for Sam to be there. I feel extremely out of my groove when Sam's voice isn't the soundtrack to everything I'm doing. Sometimes, she would narrate. _"Now, Carly Shay runs a brush through her hair - for the seventh time!"_

It sounds stupid, but it makes me laugh every time.

I want to hold her.

This is torture.

"Carly!"

I jump, dropping the magazines I had been straightening. They sprawled across the floor as if trying to escape me or trying to become a mess just to irk me, and I whirl to the door, throwing it open. "Yeah?"

"Phone!"

I all but run down the stairs. Dad is laying on the couch in boxers and a t-shirt and I take a moment just to stare at him. He hasn't shaved since he arrived, nearly a week and a half ago, and his eyes are heavy and dark and there's a bottle of beer in his hand and a whole audience of them on the coffee table.

This isn't my father. My father would never reduce to this.

He's twisted so he can see me, holding the phone. "It's a boy."

"Is it Freddie?" I cross the distance, taking the phone from his hands. He smells like beers and cigarettes. The whole house smells like beer and cigarettes.

"I don't fucking know," he grumbled. "But you're not going anywhere. You never see me. This is family time. No running off."

I nod and turn away, rolling my eyes so hard I think I might sprain them, pressing the receiver to my ear as I start to ascend the stairs. "Hello?"

"Hey, baby, what are you wearing?"

I can see why my dad would think this was a male. The voice is deep and rolling, but undeniably Sam. I break into a wide grin, running up the rest of the stairs to my room. "Oh, you know. The usual. Lacey underwear, no top."

"Mmm, I'm so horny baby. Talk dirty to me."

I laugh and feel the tension melting away from me. This isn't perfect - what would be perfect is Sam sitting with me with her blonde hair falling over me like a blanket and those words being whispered directly into my ear - but I guess this will have to do.

"Maybe when my father isn't terrorizing the house," I retort, making it to my room and shutting the door. I almost lock it, like I usually do when Sam and I are about to get ... physical ... and I wonder why I didn't do it when my dad came barging in. I couldn't remember. If I had, my dad wouldn't have her on a death list.

"I tried calling your cell," she replies. "Why didn't you answer?"

"Dad took it," I mumble. "He said he didn't want any distractions while he's here. Like we're actually spending time together or something." I sigh, rubbing my forehead as I fall into my bed and pull a full body pillow to my chest. It smells like Sam, so I pretend it's her. "I'm pretending you're a pillow," I tell her. "You're fluffy and soft."

"Calling me fat?"

"Pillow Sam is quite the chunker."

She laughs and then I hear chewing and of course she doesn't wait to swallow before she talks. "Shwhen's yerbad 'eavin'?"

"Was that English?"

She swallows. "It was Samlish. I said, so when's your dad leaving?"

I sigh again and rub my eyes. "I don't know. I haven't asked. If I do, he'll freak out and be like 'Oh, you don't want me here, do you?' And I don't, but ... I don't know. Hopefully not much longer."

"Has he always been like this?"

"No. He used to be really cool, you know, even after Mom died. I don't know when this started. Just before I went to live with Sam he started drinking really heavily." I closed my eyes, inhaling Sam's scent from the pillow. It was so real I half expected her hand to brush over my cheek and God, you have no idea how much I wanted that. I was starving for her. "I don't want to talk about my dad."

"Okay, then we won't."

"Tell me a story."

"All right. So, once upon a time, a girl named Sam met this beauty. She was tall, dark, and gorgeous, flawless in every way. She had these lips, you know, built for kissing-"

_**"CARLY SHAY!"**_

The voice came out of nowhere, screaming through the receiver. I yelped out of shock, quickly yanking the phone away from my ear, the yell still echoing in my head. Faintly, there was a crashing sound from the living room and then thunder rolling up the stairs.

"Carly? Holy fuck, what was that?"

"My dad," I managed, scrambling out of my bed. I had to hide. It wouldn't make a difference, but my heart was slamming against my ribs and I felt like I was trapped in a corner and here comes the bull. "He must have picked up the other phone - fuck." And now I'm swearing. That's when you know I'm freaking the hell out. I dove into my closet, shutting the door behind me and diving into the racks of clothes, whimpering into the phone. "Sam-"

"Carly, Carly, you have to get out!"

"He's coming!" He was in the hall, running, his footsteps booming on the floor. God, where was Spencer when you needed him?

Buying booze for my alcoholic dad.

Of course.

"Sam," I cried again, pushing myself further into the closet until my back met the wall. "I'll call you back, don't worry."

"Car-" I pushed end.

"Carly! Where the fuck are you!" He wasn't stupid - there weren't very many places to look. In a flurry of movements, the closet door was ripped open, his bear-like frame pushing into the clothes. An arm extended, searching for me.

"Dad-!" He found me, a brick of a hand curling around the front of my shirt and dragging me out. I dropped the phone, lost to the piles of clothes.

"So you're a dyke, is that what you are? A faggot?" He steps into the light of my room, brown eyes licking with fury as they stare down at me and I'm trying to go backwards, hands braced on his chest and pushing. It's not working, it's like trying to move a building and my heart hurts it's pounding so hard.

"Dad, please-!"

I heard it before I felt it. Skin smacking skin. Smack seems like too much of an understatement. It was more like a thwap, a clunk, and I swear I felt the brain hit my skull as my head swung around. My cheek is on fire and my vision blurs and I don't even realize he's let go of my shirt until I can't stand anymore and I crumple to the ground. My knees have failed me. I can't conjure up thoughts.

"No daughter of mine is going to be a fucking dyke." I hear this barely and all I can see is under my bed. He steps over me, into the closet, and when he resurfaces he's holding the phone like he's going to bludgeon me with it. "You're lucky I don't disown you." That's the last thing he says. And then he's out the door, slamming it shut.

I'm crying. I'm sobbing. I crawl toward my bed, trying to pull my self atop it but I can't, I just can't do it, so I grab the pillow that smells like Sam instead and hold it to me and tell her that I love her. "I love you, Sam, I love you I love you I love you I love ..."


	4. Chapter 4

(Sam's POV)

I don't give two flying fucks how big Carly's dad is, I'm going to kill him.

I'm out the door almost the second Carly hung up and I don't have to have straight A's like Fredward the dorkdick to know that Carly's dad is beating her up. And I know Carly's too weak to fight back, too weak to even think about standing up for herself. Maybe I don't understand because I don't know my dad - never have, never will - but if any man dared lift a hand toward me he would be on the fucking ground in two seconds flat.

But Carly loves her dad.

Fuck her dad.

I'm going to kill him.

I blur down the streets, sprinting - damn my mom having the truck doing whatever she's doing. It takes me almost fifteen minutes to get to Carly's block and my thoughts are whirling and my heart is pounding and it's not because I'm running, it's because I'm about to commit a crime and I don't even care, I don't care if I go to jail because I'm going to kill. Carly's. Dad.

I whip into her building, bursting to the elevator and punching the buttons. "Come the fuck on!" I'm being stared at but I don't care, it doesn't matter, that's not what I'm thinking about, I'm thinking about snapping a man's neck.

I can't wait anymore. I turn and sprint toward the stairs, jumping two at a time until I reach Carly's floor.

"Carly!" I don't know why I'm yelling out here in the hall but I feel like I have to. No one touches my Carly. No one.

My fists meet the door before reaching for the handle, but it's locked. Since when has the Shay family EVER locked their door? "Open the fucking door, you son of a bitch!"

"Sam?"

I turn, frightened, half expecting Freddie but it's Spencer, staring at me with wide eyes and two paper bags in both arms sporting the logo of a local liquor store. I point to the door, shaking my head sharply. "Your dad heard Carly and I talking on the phone and now he's beating her up -"

The door swings open so quickly behind me I fall back, stumbling into what feels like a wall. But it's a man. He grabs my shoulders, shoves me forward and I whip around, fists up. Carly's dad, this huge fucking bear, glares down at me with eyes that might have resembled Carly's only they're licking with hatred and his knuckles pop as they roll into fists and I don't care that he's fucking huge, I'm going to kill him.

"Dad-" Spencer sets the bags down and hustles over to us, quickly standing between me and the brute. "Dad, go back inside."

"This _thing_ is trying to corrupt Carly," he all but spits, easily shoving Spencer aside. My fists are still up.

"Dad, you're not going to assault a teenage girl." Spencer attempts to get in front of his father again only to be cast aside by a brick arm.

"Spencer, get the fuck out of the way." I wave the man over. "Come on, you child-beater. Come on. Fucking hit me."

Carly's dad steps forward and there's Spencer again and the older man shoves him so hard Spencer falls and then his fist is coming right at me and thank God I took self defense. I duck, flinging my fist out to make contact right in his fucking groin. The man grunts, grabbing for it, and I don't even see the balled fist slamming on the top of my head.

"Dad!"

Before I can even register that pain, another explosion erupts in my stomach - his foot had reared back and slammed right into my stomach.

Oh, fuck, I'm going to throw up.

I fall. Holy _shit_ that hurt. I can't move for a while and the rest of the world turns into a blur for a minute. I've been in fights - lots of fights, actually - but never with a grown man. Oh my God, I feel paralyzed. I raise my head just enough to see Spencer shoving his father, pointing down the hall and screaming. I blink hard - everything's fuzzy and moving in slow motion. I must make some kind of noise because Spencer suddenly jerks his eyes at me and widens them in concern. He reaches out, touching my head before looking back to his father.

"...or I'll call the police!" is all I make out.

Carly's dad glares at me and I stare right back, holding my head and my nose feels wet and I wipe the blood away and ow, ow, my head hurts. My stomach hurts. I'm going to lose all of my insides.

I blink and he's gone, and Spencer is floating in front of my eyes but I can't really see him, I'm holding my stomach and moaning and then the door behind Spencer opens and there's Carly with a red cheek and she stares at me and screams, "Sam!"

I then proceed to vomit.


	5. Chapter 5

(Carly's POV)

"Your breath smells like butt." I try to smile and it hurts my cheek but I do it anyway, smoothing Sam's dirty blonde bangs away from her eyes. She returns the smile before grunting, shifting the ice pack on her head toward the back. I frown, moving my hands to instead hold her free one, running my thumbs over the calloused knuckles.

"Stop crying, Cupcake." Sam sets the ice pack in her lap and reaches for me instead, touching my cheek. It isn't red anymore, but I think I might have a bruise. I don't listen to her request. I continue to cry, my tears quickly wiped away by her waiting fingers. "Please."

"I can't." I run my hand under my nose and glance up, watching as Spencer paces the kitchen, punching furiously at his cellphone. He's trying to get a hold of Dad to try and talk some sense into him, but I don't even care anymore. He could get hit by a bus for all I care. I look back at Sam, grimacing again as she closes her eyes and winces, one hand rubbing her stomach.

I don't care if he's my dad or not, he hurt Sam, and that is crossing the point of no return. I will never look at him the same. I will never think of him the same. I will never remember him as my father, just a monster; a monster who hurt my Sam.

Spencer gives a growl of frustration before stomping back toward us, easing carefully on the coffee table in front of Sam. "Are you sure you're okay? I could run you to the hospital, no sweat."

Sam shakes her head, eyes open again to find my face before turning to Spencer. "I'll be okay."

I turn to Spencer, biting my lip and furiously rubbing the tears from my eyes with the heels of my hands. "Spence."

He turns and looks at me, sadness so heavy in his eyes it makes me start crying all over again. He feels guilty, I can see it in every line of his face.

"What now?" I only whisper the words as if I'm afraid to speak too loudly. "What happens to D-" I stop, take another breath, and try again. "Dad?"

"That's up to Sam." He turns back to her, frowning. "He assaulted you. If you want to press charges-"

"No." She shook her head again, trying to sit up while cradling her abdomen at the same time. "Just forget it."

"Forget it?" My voice sounds shrill and high. It makes Sam and Spencer jump. "He attacked you, Sam!"

"I'm not going to get your dad in trouble, Carly." She levels her gaze on me. "He attacked you, too, remember? If anyone is going press charges on your dad, that's between you two." She swings her hand between us before laying back on the couch, wincing again. "If you guys want him in your life, then you figure that out. That isn't my place."

Spencer frowns and looks to the floor and I look to the ceiling instead, my hands folded tightly in my lap. I can't stop crying and I don't try to stop the tears as they run down my cheeks and nose and over my lips. I just let them fall.

Sam won't press charges against my dad. I kind of want her to, because it would be easier. I wouldn't have to do it. I couldn't stop it, even if I wanted to. And I understand why she won't. I wouldn't want to press charges against my girlfriend's dad, either.

"What should I do, Spencer?" I look up but he doesn't move, a marble statue on the coffee table.

"I don't know." Only his lips move. "I'm trying to convince myself that it wasn't him, that he was drunk. But that's no excuse." He lifts his eyes. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know, either." I blink hard and duck my head, feeling Sam's arm drape over my shoulders. I turn into her neck and cry as her hand runs down my back in a comforting fashion.

"We'll figure it out, Carls." She talks in my ear and presses her cheek to my sore one.

"You need a tic tac."

"That's my girl."


	6. Chapter 6

(Sam's POV)

As much as I dislike my mother for not giving a damn, I am at least grateful that she will let me stay at Carly's for days and days at a time without even calling to check up on me. It gives me a lot less to worry about.

I'm sprawled on her bed, staring down at my geometry with the pencil of my eraser wedged between my teeth. Behind me is the sound of water thundering on the bottom of the tub. How the hell am I supposed to focus on finding the apothem of a square when my thoughts are ricocheting off the insides of my skull? Carly Carly's Dad Spencer Carly Carly's Dad Carly Carly Carly -

I don't think I've worried about something as much as I am right now in my entire life. Once, I was stupid enough to bring an ounce of pot into my locker in middle school and it just so happened to be a dog search day. By some grace of God or whatever is floating above us, the dog that sniffed my locker was either preoccupied with something else or really, really stupid. That day had sucked big time, but not as badly as life was sucking at the moment.

My stomach is bruised pretty badly. It's that sick purple/yellow it becomes when it starts to heal. I like to poke and prod at it, but I usually hide it as soon as Carly enters the room. She doesn't like seeing it. For good reason, I suppose. I don't think she fancies the idea too much that her father had every intention of killing me.

She still hasn't made a decision. When we crawl into bed at night and I loop my arms around her waist and pull her back into my chest, she only dances around the topic. She's trying to make me persuade her, but I only shake my head and insist that she has to make that choice herself. I'm not going to take her father away from her, no matter what he does to me. It's not my place.

Carly wants me to. She really does. Because then she won't have to blame herself for getting her dad in trouble - possibly even sending him to jail. A part of me wants to send him to prison (the fucker _did _punch me) but, fuck, that's Carly's dad, and I guess no matter what your dad does to you, you're always going to love him somehow. I never knew mine, so I'll never understand that connection. I don't know what to think, I don't know what to do.

Nothing. I can't do anything. I have to leave that up to Carly and Spencer.

We haven't heard any sign of her dad. Spencer has probably left a dozen messages on his cellphone, but he never calls back. Carly hasn't made any attempt. Every time Spencer brings him up, she folds into me.

I close my textbook. I can't focus anyway, and attempting geometry when you're thinking about your girlfriend and her dad is like trying to drive with your hands behind your back. I slip off of her sheets and tiptoe to her connecting bathroom, peeking my head through the cracked door. The room is full of steam and Carly is slumped in the tub, her head turned to one side. Her dark hair is framing a sort of halo around her in the water. I slip through the door and breathe in the steam, running my hand through my hair as I perch on the side of the tub. I turn off the water with a squeak and Carly starts, sitting up in the tub with her hands over her breasts until her eyes register me. She sighs, sinking back into the water and closing her eyes once more.

"You almost flooded the bathroom," I say, twirling my thumbs between my knees.

"Sorry. I'm really tired." She raises her fists and rubs her eyes. They're red-rimmed and I don't think it's because of the steam.

"Carls." I stop, frowning down at the linoleum floor and bouncing my foot. I don't know what to say.

"I don't want to talk about it, Sam." She sits up again and pulls her knees to her chest, glaring hard at the warm water surrounding her thighs.

"We have to talk about it. You at least have to think about it, Carly. What are you going to do?"

She frowns and tilts her forehead to her knees, talking down to her stomach. "I don't know."

"He hit you. He hit me."

"I'm aware."

We sit in silence and I watch the mirror across the room get foggier and foggier until the condensation drips down the glass. "Maybe, Carly, you should just cut off your contact with him. That's worse than prison, I think. Losing his daughter because she chose to be lost."

She sniffles. I turn quickly to watch her shoulders begin to tremble, hands clenched tightly into fists at her sides.

I spin and kneel next to the tub, placing my hand on her damp back. She picks her head up only to press the back of her hand to her mouth, eyes still closed.

"Don't cry, Carly."

"I love him," she chokes, opening her eyes but avoiding me, staring straight ahead. "I know he's a piece of shit, Sam, I do, but he's my dad."

"I know," I say, because it's all I really can say at this point. "I lost my dad, too."

"But you never knew yours," she interjects, turning to finally look at me. "He used to be great. Really. He used to smile and laugh and hug me. He loved Spencer and I, he treated us like he was supposed to ..." She drifts, her eyes falling down again. "I wish you could have known him then."

"Me too, Carls." I stroke her spine, gnawing on the inside of my lip for a moment before sucking in a breath. "What are you going to do?"

She doesn't move for several long moments, simply stares ahead of her in thought. She then raises her shoulders and lets them drop. "Get him out of my life. Get me out of his."

"Spencer and Freddie and I, we'll be right here the whole time. I promise."

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Take a bath with me."

I didn't need to be asked twice.


	7. Chapter 7

(Carly's POV)

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"

I smile at her but it's tight and flat and I know she knows that. I put my hands on either side of her cheeks and pull her close until her nose bumps mine. "I'm sure," I say against her mouth and like instinct she kisses me, arms around my waist. I want her to come with me. I don't feel an ounce of weakness when Sam is standing next to me. And even though I finally managed to get ahold of my dad and I'm meeting him in a public place, I'm still afraid he could hurt her.

My dad isn't the man I thought I knew.

Spencer is hovering behind us, frowning. He doesn't want to come. He wants the 'separation' between Dad and him to be cold turkey. I want some kind of closure. I still feel the heat of his hand smacking my cheek and I still feel the absolute horror when I saw Sam huddle in a ball in the hallway. I can't love my dad, not the way I used to. I just can't. How can someone love the abuser of the one person who means more than anyone else?

You can't love someone that hates everything you stand for.

"I'll be fine," I assure her as she pulls away, threading a hand through my hair and still holding me. I can see the reluctance in her eyes as I pry her hands from my waist. "We're meeting in a park. I'm safe. I'll be back in an hour, maybe two." I can't stand the worry in her face, that heavy weight hanging in her eyes. I kiss her again, soft and careful, with my hands planted firmly on her cheeks. "Really, Sam. I'll be fine."

"I'll be waiting here with bowls of ice cream and Curly Cow on TV."

"I'm holding you to that, Puckett."

With one final kiss to her cheek, I manage to tear away from her branch-like arms and step away toward the door. Spencer's lips take the form of something broken that's trying very hard to be a smile, but is failing completely. I mirror the gesture before lifting a hand and waving it, stepping out the door.

I stand in the silence of the hallway for a few moments, trying to catch my breath. A day like this isn't exactly something you expect. It's not something you can prepare for, it's not something you can rehearse and feel ready. Cutting off all contact with someone who is supposed to love you no matter what - it's torture, the kind that makes your heart shudder and miss beats. I close my eyes with my forehead against the door and try to conjure up what I can about my mom. She died when I was so little, I can only barely remember her smile and her hair that looks so much like mine does now. I remember going to the circus once, and I was perched on my dad's lap. He laughed, ruffled Spencer's hair, and leaned over and kissed my mom.

My ribcage shakes a little and I'm so close to stepping back inside and telling Sam to grab her coat and come with me - but I have to do this alone. This is _my _dad. I have to do this.

He hurt me. He hurt Spencer. He hurt Sam. My Sam. That's a line that you cross once and are never allowed on the other side again.

Finally, with a shuddering breath, I push off the door, turn and stomp down hallway to the elevator. The descent is slow and lonely and I'm playing with my black felt hat, tugging it over my ears and readjusting the buttons on my coat. There aren't words to describe this kind of nervousness. This is raw and new and terrifying, like jumping in front of a moving car when the driver is already drunk or something. I don't know. I'm scared.

I'm scared and Sam isn't with me.

I step out into the damp Seattle streets, my hands stuffed into my pockets. The park is only a few blocks from here, so I duck my head into my coat and take a left. The streets are nearly empty and it smells like rain. On these very streets, Sam has twirled me a hundred times and held hands in front of old, scowling couples and pranced in pride parades. We've shown the world who we are and I've never felt an ounce of shame until my dad -

I rub my hand into my eye. I really can't afford to think of this right now. I just have to get this over with. I have to cut him out or he'll eat my up like a disease.

I don't realize I've been walking as long as I have because all of the sudden the park is right next to me. I stop and turn to gaze at the collection of equipment, painted sunflower yellow and white. It's vacant of children and that feels wrong, somehow. A beautiful park needs children like penguins need other penguins or how I need Sam. How I used to need my dad.

But children grow up.

Dads become monsters.

I freeze when my eyes lock on the huddle figure of a man on a park bench, hands pinched between his knees and his head down. He's not wearing a coat. Even from this distance, even with his head down like it is, I know it's Dad, and I burst forward almost with the intention of helping him - but I can't. I won't. I stop a few feet from the bench and stare at the trembling man before me and I can't believe this man is my father. My prim, composed, loving, accepting father.

Now this lost, awful, disgusting bear.

Funny, how things turn out.

"Dad."

He looks up and for a second I thought he was crying, but he's not - he just looks really, really pissed. The lines in his face are like craters and his face is scruffy and his hair tangles upon his scalp in greasy, curled strands. He's wearing the same clothes we kicked him out in. He scowls up at me, one foot bouncing. "Are you going to let me in the fucking house now? Christ's sake, kicking me out of the apartment I helped pay for -"

Not even an apology. Not a spec of remorse in his eyes. I stand there, lips parted in a kind of disgusted awe as he continues, shifting backwards on the bench with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, eyes never wavering from mine.

"You're both spoiled brats, you and Spencer. Need some fucking discipline. Spencer needs a god damn job and you, Princess, need to get this gay thing out of your system by the time I come back -"

I hold up a hand and even though I don't expect it to, my dad shuts up. I lower it slowly and stare at him, this man I don't know anymore, this man that talks to me like I'm a pet or something. I shake my head and suck in a shuddering breath. "You're not coming back."

"To hell I'm not. I'm your father."

"No." I laugh when I say it, shaking my head again and I'm on the verge of sobbing. A damp wind rustles past and plays with my hair. I think of Sam waiting for me back home. "You're not my dad anymore. My dad is dead."

He scoffs and leans forward. "Look, if this is about me hitting you, that was only because you deserved it -"

"For what?" Tears are welling up now and I don't stop them, simply wipe them away with my gloves. "For loving Sam?"

"No daughter of mine is a damn dirty fucking dyke, Carly, you're not a fucking homo -"

"But I _am_. I love Sam. I love being with Sam. And this isn't about you hitting me." I cross my arms and glare down at him, gnawing on the inside of my lip. "It's about you hitting Sam."

The bear rolls his eyes and looks away, shaking his head. "My kids, turning out like this. An artist faggot and a dyke, for Christ's sake."

"Mom would have loved us," I sob, stepping away from him again.

"Your mother is dead."

"So are you."

And that's it. That's all I want to say, that's all I have to say, that's all I have left. I stare at him long and hard and then I turn and run away, trying to erase the image of him glaring up at me from my frontal lobe and regarding him like he really is dead and the only memory I have left is the one of me on his lap and him kissing my mom. Not this man. Not this stranger, this monster, not this.

I run. I run and slap my feet against the wet sidewalk and I never knew choices could be this hard, but I always know what the right one is.

And when I swing into the apartment, wet and crying, Sam is holding two bowls of ice cream and Curly Cow is flickering brightly on the TV.

The one where I have Sam.

That's the best choice.


End file.
